Frank drew himself up; but realised even as he did so that he must make
some reply to Priscilla. It was impossible to pretend not to know that
she was speaking about his clothes.

"An old suit of flannels," he said with elaborate carelessness. "I hope
you didn't expect me to be grand."

"I never saw anything grander in my life," said Priscilla. "I thought
Sylvia Courtney's summer Sunday hat was swankey; but it's simply not in
it with your coat I suppose that belt thing is real silk."

"School colours," said Frank.

"Oh! Ours are blue and dark yellow. I have them on a hockey blouse."

The bath-chair turned out to be rather more dilapidated and disreputable
than Frank expected. The front-wheel--bound to its place with string,
not hair ribbon--seemed very likely indeed to come off. He eyed it
doubtfully.

"If you're afraid," said Priscilla, "that it will dirty your beautiful
white trousers, I'll give it a rub-over with my pocket-handcher. But I
don't think that'll be much use really. You'll be filthy from head to
foot in any case before we get home."

Frank, limping with as much dignity as possible, sat down in the chair.
He got out his cigarette case and asked Priscilla not to start until he
had lit his cigarette.

"You don't object to the smell, I hope," he said politely.

"Not a bit I'd smoke myself only I don't like it. I tried once--Sylvia
Courtney was shocked. That's rather the sort she is--but it seemed to me
to have a nasty taste. You're sure you like it, Cousin Frank? Don't do
it simply because you think you ought."

Priscilla pushed the bath-chair from behind. Frank guided the shaky
front wheel by means of a long handle. They went down the avenue at an
extremely rapid pace, Priscilla moving in a kind of jaunty canter. When
they reached the gate Frank's cigarette had gone out. There was a pause
while he lit it again. Then he asked Priscilla to go a little less
quickly. He wished his approach to the public street of the village to
be as little grotesque as possible.

"By the way," said Priscilla, "have you any money?"

"Certainly. How much do you want?"

"That depends. I have eightpence, which ought to be enough unless you
want something very expensive to drink."

"Why should we take anything to drink? We said at breakfast that we'd be
back for luncheon."

"We won't," said Priscilla, "nor we won't for tea. Lucky if we are for
dinner."

"But Miss Lentaigne said she'd expect us. If we stay out s